


Smitten

by veritasapientia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-11-16 20:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritasapientia/pseuds/veritasapientia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred has met the most gorgeous transfer student Frances. Somehow he ended up in an Art History class, and he's a Physics Major...what is happening? A fun start to a college AU with FR/US.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smitten

“You see?” Frances says in that intoxicating accent and Alfred sees nothing except the graceful slope of her neck, the tan acquired from a Marseilles vacation fading from clear soft skin, her beautiful blue eyes not as true blue as his own, but the blue of the faraway hazy hills depicted in the painting they are supposed to be studying, her shiny blonde hair perfection in waves, and those lips as they quirk into a knowing smile. “Alfred? You are not listening?” Her eyes are knowing, seductive, and Alfred smiles wide and goofy, feeling like the uncultured American boor she must think he is.  
“Yeah, uh, totally. I can totally see it.” He laughs ungracefully shuffling his strong long tanned fingers through his short chopped hair.  
“Hmm…I will have to take your word for it.” She smiles, her lips beautiful and wanting, and Alfred stares dumbfounded. “Maybe later,” She whispers as she brushes past him, leaving him with a racing heartbeat and too-tight pants.  
Man, I gotta get it together, he thinks self-deprecating, watching Frances with longing as she conversed with laughs and fluid gestures with the Spanish exchange student.  
Wrenching himself away from the scene, he stares at the Monet before him and then down at the worksheet they are supposed to fill out for Art History. In the art piece of your choice, state the art movement it is from, and the significance of the particular piece or artist within that movement. Specifically state three compositional elements within the piece. Alfred stares at the question and groans. He doesn’t get this! Kicking himself mentally for the thousandth time for taking an art class when his astrophysics degree did not require another random elective—obviously—he tried to focus on his real reason for being here, right now in this museum, partnered up with Frances Bonnefoy the most gorgeous girl in the world, and trying to analyze paint splotches created a hundred years earlier.  
She had been in line, waiting to register for classes. Her long legs had been slightly tanned and her outfit seeming to be ten times more glamorous than any of the other new students milling about even though she was just wearing shorts and a tan top. She had been frustrated; her beautiful lips down-turned and pouting, making Alfred want to grab her and kiss her until she was laughing and happy. Her hands had wandered through her silky hair filled with golden glossy waves. Alfred’s hot gaze had been apparent to Matthew, his twin, standing in line by him. Matthew apparently hadn’t missed the girl either and Alfred glared at him for staring at her ass. His brother had just quirked an eyebrow and laughed.  
“At least I know French.”  
She was French? Alfred now was the one pouting. Damn, why was she French? The French were rude and crass, and…he couldn’t stop staring…dammit… sexy! She was pure sex, and she seemed to know it. Just as Alfred was debating this horrifying new fact, and about to pounce on Matthew for the fact that Quebeçois was not Parisian French (see, he did know some things) a very British voice spoke out.  
“Why don’t you just go back to the Sorbonne?” Arthur Kirkland, Alfred’s old roommate strode over to the edge of the line talking to Alfred’s French (why French?!) goddess.  
She laughed. Alfred loved it.  
“You are so funny, Arthur. You think you can cook, you perverted old man.”  
Apparently this actually constituted as an insult, because Arthur grew red in the face and looked like he had swallowed a lemon. “Bloody slag.”  
This was enough for Alfred, for as he put it, he was a hero, and nobody was going to insult his goddess, especially from old roommates who didn’t understand the concept of non-codependent relationships.  
“Artie!!! Heeey.” Alfred butted in line, causing the Japanese transfer student to blush and stutter, and an angry Italian to start cursing him in broken English and Italian. He wrapped his arm around his old nemesis (ok, roommate) and gave his best heartbreaker smile to the beautiful young goddess.  
Five people back in line, Matthew rolled his eyes.  
“What the bloody hell?” Was Arthur’s response, but Alfred only had eyes for the French girl. She smiled at him, her eyes dancing, and she winked at him.  
Alfred forgot what he was doing.  
“ ‘Allo.” She said with a smirk, “Can I help you?” Her eyelashes fluttered just a bit.  
Now Alfred couldn’t breathe.  
He started coughing once his brain realized that his lungs were cutting off airflow. “Um..” came out very unheroically between coughs. “Alfred F. Jones, here, miss, um…” cough, “to save you.”  
Arthur was looking at him like he had grown horns. He peeled Alfred’s arm off his shoulder like it was contaminated with lice, and said, “Grow up, you wanker.”  
The girl just laughed that beautiful laugh. She slowly ran her finger up Alfred’s forearm.  
Two feet away, Arthur Kirkland rolled his eyes.  
“I’m Frances. Frances Bonnefoy. I’m so glad you came to help me. I don’t know how to do this registration, and I think you would be perfect to help me out. You look very smart. Très intelligent. Hmm…” She smiled, her perfectly manicured hand giving his tee shirt which so eloquently stated “Vader’s coming. Look busy!” a tug on the bottom perfectly straightening it into position. Her hand passed inches away from his waistline, and Alfred F. Jones, couldn’t remember his name.  
But somehow, somehow, through a daze in which very little information broke through, such as Arthur shouting British cuss words and profanity at him, Frances teasingly stating annoying insults back at Arthur, Matthew calming down Arthur somehow, and then Matthew and Arthur talking energetically behind Alfred and Frances in line, he had signed Frances up for all the classes she wanted. While he was signing up for his own repertoire of calculus, physics and quantum physics, Frances had cooed, “Oh, mon ami, I am so excited for Art Histoire! You have no idea, the work, the artists…” on and on, and somehow Alfred had signed up for the same class as her.  
It was a mistake, or not so much, and now here he was standing in front of a Monet, the hay bales shadowed in the sun, wondering how he was going to finish this assignment.  
There was a movement behind him and he felt a hand sliding over his butt. Startled he jumped and the hand came up and around his waist. “You are worried by this little assignment, non?” Frances was staring up at him, her face sultry, and then moving towards tender. “I will take good care of you.”  
“Uh. Thanks?”  
Francis laughed. She really did have a delightful laugh, you know.


	2. Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This year at university Arthur is realizing just how wonderful Matthew is, but he knows that he could never be with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hetalia belongs to Hima.

                     Shake it Out by Florence + the Machine drifted across the campus lawn, sung in a deeper masculine voice, the words lingering in the fall air enchanting Arthur. It was some bewitchment he thought, truly, like the faerie world he believed in as a child, and the world sometimes he wished would come back to him now that he was older. Sometimes when it was very misty and foggy out, he wished the forest would lead him away from this world into the world of childhood, of magic tea parties, strange lanterns lighting paths into the forest, and fetes that he rode to on a unicorn.  
                    Lord, Arthur thought with a shake of his head, what a maudlin mood.  
                    He knew the voice that lured him. A siren whose shores he would gladly dash his ship upon, a very polite siren, one that would apologize before consuming him.  
                   “Arthur?” The siren’s voice now said very close, confused. The music had stopped, the lithe fingers that were as adept in biology labs now stilled against the frets of a guitar. Lavender blue eyes looked up through glasses, questioning him, and if they had known what he was thinking, probably his sanity. Arthur’s feet must have led him to the sound just as clearly as a ship did to a siren’s sound.  
                   “Er, Matthew.” He said clearing his throat, feeling the flush climbing his face, “Keep playing. I was enjoying it.”  
                   Matthew just smiled slightly, “Sure, anything for you Arthur.”  
                   Which just tightened Arthur’s pants slightly. He sat down quickly; trying to pretend everything was normal. The afternoon sun was filtering through the leaves of the tree they sat under. The colors played across the lawn across Arthur’s arms and he looked at the green sunlight leaves, as Matthew sang.  
                   Then Arthur could no longer resist and he took in the lovely wavy blonde hair that hung over a strong face softened by beautiful lips and the longest eyelashes Arthur had seen. Matthew smiled as he sang, his flannel shirtsleeves rolled up his arms to reveal strong arms that were pale and lovely.  
                   How did this start? Arthur couldn’t do this. He knew it. He knew that it would never work. He could never get someone as beautiful and lovely as Matthew. After all, that mess with Alfred would complicate things immensely. Not to say that just the fact that Matthew was Alfred’s twin would be trouble. What was that buggering bro code Alfred was always nattering on about? Something about not dating your best bro’s sister? Well, Fuck. Matthew wasn’t a girl; he was a guy. But if Arthur made a move on him, Alfred would most likely smash his face in. Or at least try. Arthur thought maliciously.  
                   Last year had been horrible. Arthur’s heart had been broken. He knew, knew that Alfred would come back to him. How could he not? He needed Arthur. Without Arthur there for him, his life would collapse. Hadn’t Arthur cleaned up all the problems he had created? Hadn’t he made sure he was eating right? Hadn’t he made sure that he was dressing right, and that he would study? Kiku couldn’t do that. And no, Kiku had told Arthur as much, very politely, so subtlety that Arthur couldn’t even argue back. Kiku had said, that Alfred-kun needed to find himself, and that he could do all those things himself, and that being Alfred’s roommate didn’t mean he had to take care of Alfred.  
                   Anger burned, and resentment, and Arthur had realized just how much he had loved Alfred. Their relationship would never be the same. Or all Arthur’s loose-leaf tea floating in the bathtub had made that expressly clear. The dorm room had been emptied, and Alfred refused to talk to him.  
So that when he had walked into his dorm room on finals week and seen Alfred there, his heart had jumped. But no, as much as the stature and coloring was the same, this Alfred had longer hair and was tilting his head scanning through Arthur’s assembled books, his face lax, a stuffed bear leaning on his scuffed converse. Arthur would remember that image many times in the future, the perfection of the late afternoon sun, the dust motes and haze creating an angelic haze around Matthew, for that was his name, Alfred’s twin, as his heart leapt. The boy had turned, his eyes startled behind glasses, the blue having an Elizabeth Taylor effect turning lavender in the sun, and the soft smile that graced his lips.  
                  His heart hadn’t changed overnight. But over summer vacation he had kept in touch with Alfred through Matthew. He had started talking to Matthew instead of Alfred. Their emails, phone calls, skypes had been full of interesting conversation, so much so that Arthur would forget why he even called in the first place.  
                  Then he had run into him the first day of registering for classes, and everything had just clicked. His heart was feeling something totally different. He had loved Alfred; in a way he still loved him. But this feeling was different; it was deep and dark, and filled with hopes and dreams, something he couldn’t think about, because those things had to be contained. They were things that could never happen to him, one of those things being Matthew. Someone he desperately wanted. It was strange this feeling. He held it quietly by his heart, he knew so many things that would shatter it, and so he kept it hidden.  
                 Matthew was beautiful; Arthur was ugly. Matthew was tall and strong, Arthur was shorter and wiry. Matthew sat outside like today, under the trees playing the guitar. All the guys would come and listen, girls too. Arthur had seen Carlos ask him out, and then Ivan, and even Ian. Matthew was shy, reserved, but for Arthur he always had a smile, put his heart into things, it was sweetly loyal, and Arthur had never had a friend like him. Arthur drifted in his world of regrets and internal chastisement letting the music wash him away on this perfect day of blue skies, and brilliant greens of Indian summer.  
                He didn’t notice.  
                He didn’t notice how Matthew’s eyes drifted to the scrunched, too large eyebrows, the pursed lips, the emerald green eyes unfocused contemplating who knows what, and how they watched Arthur under their eyelashes. How they dared Arthur to notice the flirtatious look, to maybe see Matthew differently, maybe notice him at all.  
                All Matthew could do is sing love songs at a man who was in love with his brother, and live his life hiding the deep admiration for the man who said he liked his songs and music. Arthur, Matthew sighed, would never see Matthew as Matthew saw Arthur. Matthew sang on, capturing his love in lines of music and voice, drawing him the only way he knew, keeping him to himself as long as possible. Perhaps his dreams of him loving him back would keep him through the late summer night, and through the fall, perhaps during winter, and forever.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfiction ever. Please give me concrit! I appreciate it! Inspired by Liete's request for FRUS.


End file.
